


Tumblr Mini-Fic #2: Fluff

by berlynn_wohl



Series: Tumblr Mini-Fics [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a series of Johnlock mini-fics written for my Tumblr followers. Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumblr Mini-Fic #2: Fluff

**A gift for my 40th follower,[eulimene](http://eulimene.tumblr.com/), who requested, simply, “fluff.” **  
  
  
  
Dazzling. Angelic. Beatific.  
  
Three words which did _not_ describe a sleeping Sherlock Holmes, who was currently slack-jawed and drooling onto his pillow. He and John had collapsed into bed at the same time — 3:45 AM — but Sherlock did not share John’s habit of waking promptly at six, regardless of how many hours of sleep he’d had.  
  
Unable to enjoy a proper lie-in, John turned to smirk affectionately at his snoring companion before getting up for a pee. His empty stomach ached, so he had a piece of toast before returning to bed. He brought an extra pillow from the sitting room with him, sitting against the headboard and holding a novel with one had while stroking Sherlock’s hair absentmindedly with the other.  
  
Morning light poured into the room as John read. Occasionally he considered waking Sherlock for a morning shag; some increasingly insistent kisses distributed across the more spacious planes of his naked body ought to do the trick. Sherlock would be quiet and pliant for it, non-verbal because he was ashamed of his morning breath (but disinclined to interrupt the proceedings by getting up to brush his teeth).  
  
But no, it would be cruel to wake Sherlock now. He’d hardly been asleep three hours.  
  
Seven AM came and went. Eight. Nine. At nine-twenty, Sherlock woke up enough to mumble “ _Hrrlo_ ” and rub his face into the pillow a bit. John leaned over to give him a kiss on the forehead, and he promptly fell back asleep. He was not a chatty sleeper, but every so often it sounded to John like Sherlock was muttering words like “ _fridge_ ” or “ _llama_.”  
  
John managed to finish a few chapters of his book, though his reading speed might seem dismal to an observer because, more and more frequently as the morning progressed, images crept into John’s mind of that tousled, sleepy Sherlock making little moans and gasps as his body rocked rhythmically beneath John’s own.  
  
But when John actually looked up from his book and glanced at the real Sherlock, he saw the same sweetly absurd expression as before, the same charming bit of drool clinging to his lower lip, and couldn’t bear to disturb him. There was plenty of time for a frolic later.  
  
Except, wait. It seemed to John like they had some sort of social obligation that day…Ah, crap — _the train_. They had a train to catch at eleven from Victoria Station, so that Sherlock could meet with some MP that John had never heard of about some requisite but uninteresting matter.  
  
John looked up from his book once more when Sherlock snuffled in his sleep and rolled to one side. The edge of the sheet was not able to make the full journey with him, and left his bum exposed. John immediately began budgeting their remaining time. Fifteen minutes in a cab to Victoria Station, half an hour to get showered and dressed — _hmm, could make that fifteen in a pinch_ — and twenty minutes to eat a proper breakfast, as it had now been nearly three hours since his single slice of toast and he was hungry again. That left only twenty minutes for sex. Even if he got something to eat on the train instead, that would still only give them forty minutes. And he needed to allot at least fifteen of those for foreplay — Sherlock liked to be romanced a bit first.  
  
Frowning, his forehead crinkled for the benefit of no one but himself, John decided against it once and for all. He didn’t like to rush morning sex, and Sherlock, not being as libidinous as John, would probably prefer to devote those forty minutes to additional sleep anyway.  
  
When Sherlock woke properly, it was quite sudden. He lifted his head from the bed had a look round. “ _Hmh?_ John.”  
  
“Right here.”  
  
“ _Mmm_ …indeed,” Sherlock slurred, and turned to face John. He propped himself with one arm while removing the sleep-crust from his eyes with the other hand. “Morning.”  
  
“Morning.” John closed his book “Did you have a dream about llamas or something?”  
  
“Hm, no.” Sherlock looked John up and down, and then did the thing where he leered and squirmed a bit, to indicate he was amenable to a sexual encounter.  
  
“Afraid not,” John said, feeling a pang of regret that he had not woken Sherlock thirty minutes ago. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “We’ve a train to catch.”  
  
Sherlock made a grab for the hem of John’s t-shirt, and between kisses to the skin he had exposed by doing so, said, “Yes, at Noon.”  
  
John turned round and tried to suppress a squeal, as Sherlock’s kisses were tickling him. “At — **!** — at eleven, you mean.”  
  
“No, at Noon. I knew you wouldn’t have the heart to wake me for sex, and you always regret it when you don’t. So I called while you were in the kitchen waiting for the toast, and had the tickets changed. That back-bencher won’t miss us if we’re absent an extra hour.”  
  
“Ah — **!** — Very well,” John pronounced, “but we must — **!** – we must exercise the _utmost_ self-discipline, so that we don’t miss the Noon train.” He allowed himself, at last, to utter the most dignified squeal that he could manage, in response to Sherlock’s ongoing efforts, then continued, “It would be a shame if we got carried away, and still didn’t get to Victoria Station on time.”  
  
“A _damned_ shame,” Sherlock agreed, and smiled as he nipped at John’s flank.


End file.
